


All You Have

by PitViperOfDoom



Category: Big Hero 6 (2014)
Genre: Gen, You can't convince me that Tadashi was always perfect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-07 23:42:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3187682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PitViperOfDoom/pseuds/PitViperOfDoom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or, How Tadashi Learned To Stop Whining And Love Hiro</p>
            </blockquote>





	All You Have

Tadashi was six years old when he first laid eyes on his baby brother. Mae Hamada almost cried with relief when she saw her elder son's eyes light up at the sight of him. One look and he was enchanted, sitting for hours by his mother's hospital bed just to watch the new arrival in rapt wonder. In moments of boldness he hesitantly offered a finger for the infant to grip. Late at night, as Tadashi was drifting between sleep and wakefulness, his mother heard him whisper “You're _perfect,_ ” to his newborn brother.

It took two whole weeks for the novelty to wear off; as six-year-olds went, it was impressive.

Mae was standing in the kitchen with dark circles under her eyes and her baby son balanced on one arm when Tadashi's high voice piped up from the table. “Mom?”

The couple had taken to sleeping in shifts. As it was, she hadn't slept more than two hours at a time since shortly after giving birth. She was operating in an uncomfortable but manageable fog, and it took a full twelve seconds for her to recognize that yes, Tadashi had spoken, and yes, he was addressing her. “Yeah, baby, what is it?”

“When are you gonna take him back to the hospital?”

The question fell on her ears like a death knell. The sensation of wanting to burst into tears washed over her like a wave, before receding moments later. She had been hoping against hope, with every fiber of her being, that this wouldn't come. The first day, seeing Tadashi's face light up with wonder at the sight of his new brother, had given her such optimism that she would avoid this little speed bump. But no, it was not to be.

_If we'd been smart we would've had our second child when he was too young to put up too much of a fuss,_ she thought, bouncing Hiro when she sensed him about to start fussing. It was her own fault – she'd fallen in love the day Tadashi was born, and hers hadn't worn off. She'd had too much love for him to be willing to share it with another, and now it looked like they were all going to pay the price.

She sighed lightly, turned around, and made herself sit down in front of her older son. There was no malice on his face, just wide-eyed wondering as he played with his half-empty sippy cup. “Sweetie,” she began. “We're not going to take him back. He's here to stay.”

Tadashi's face fell. “Oh,” he said, disappointed. “They won't take him back?”

“Well, no.” Everyone said you were a veteran after your first child, but having a second one only raised a new set of problems. “And even if they did, we wouldn't want to give him back, would we?”

He stared at her as if she were crazy. “Why not?”

“Tadashi, don't you want your brother to stay?”

“No.”

_Worst word he ever learned_ , Mae thought, heart sinking. “Tadashi, what brought this on? I thought you liked Hiro – don't you remember how happy you were when you first saw him?”

Tadashi scowled. “He was asleep and cute. Now he drools and barfs everywhere, he wakes me up every night, he smells bad, and he looks gross when he cries.”

“I'm sorry he wakes you up,” Mae sighed.

He shrugged. “I can sleep whenever. But ever since he got here you're mad all the time and I want to go to the park.”

And there it was. “I promise we'll go to the park soon-”

“You  _always_ say that and we never do!”

“It's been two weeks.” Mae could feel her temper rising and struggled with herself. “Tell you what, I'll give Aunt Cass a call, and she can take you to the park and bake you lots of yummy treats, how's that?”

Tadashi pouted. Mae was half convinced he had an extra bone in his upper lip, the way he could stick it out. Sinking deeper into his chair, he mumbled back. “I don't wanna go with Aunt Cass, I wanna go with  _you_ .” He drew the last word out into something approaching a whine.

Sighing again, she adjusted her hold on Hiro, cupped the back of Tadashi's head with her free hand, and pulled him forward gently to plant a kiss on his forehead. “And I will, very soon. And Daddy and I aren't mad, we're just tired. But this won't last forever. It didn't with you.”

A look of horror crossed Tadashi's face. “Was  _I_ like that?”

“Oh no, honey.” Mae smiled sweetly. “You were much, much worse.”

From the look on his face, he didn't seem to believe her.  _Just wait,_ she thought, cheering herself.  _One day you'll have a kid of your own, and he'll give you just as much of a headache_ . No need to let him now about that yet, though.

“One day you'll wake up and realize,” she went on. “that Hiro is your baby brother and you love him. And I promise we'll be going to the park again long before then.”

He glared at her in suspicion. “Pinky promise?” He extended his hand, little finger out.

With a tired smile, Mae hooked her pinky with his. “Pinky promise.”

Truth be told, she hadn't been exaggerating. Tadashi had been loud as an infant; his two settings had been “asleep” and “making noise.” Now that sibling rivalry had set in, that noise level was starting to crop up again. Tantrums from babies and toddlers were bad enough – tantrums from six-year-olds were a production and a half.

Hiro, aside from his late-night fussing, was comparatively quiet, especially when his age expanded into months. It worried her sometimes, seeing him staring out at the world around him without making a noise, not even the wordless infant gurgling she remembered coming out of Tadashi's mouth at that age. Babies were supposed to make more noises than crying, weren't they? She breathed a sigh of relief when she heard a few nonsense noises from time to time when he was four or five months, but after six months they quieted. He laughed and cried and smiled and looked at her when she said his name, but his silence stretched out long enough to worry her.

“He's thinking,” Tomeo assured her, kissing her on the temple while she fretted. “Look at that face. He's taking everything in first. One day he'll tell us all about what he sees. You'll see.” Ever hopeful, she carried a tape recorder with her everywhere.

She wasn't sure until a month or two before they celebrated his first birthday. Tadashi came trudging in after school, marching pointedly past his little brother's high chair while Mae sat nearby mixing formula. By then, her sons seemed to have reach a steady sort of truce. Tadashi didn't whine or pitch fits when Hiro took up his parents' time anymore, and Hiro... well, Hiro stayed quiet and stared more. Sometimes Tadashi would deign to stop for a moment or two to look at him or stare into his crib. But the spark that Mae had seen when Hiro was born was gone.

On this particular day, Tadashi walked through the kitchen in silence, without even asking for a snack. Mae looked up from her task just in time to watch Hiro track his older brother's progress through the room. He had the strangest expression on his face, even for a baby. His little eyebrows were knitted together – was that stink eye? No, it was different, more thoughtful than angry. Mae watched him curiously.

“Tadashi.”

It came out clear, high, and slow, each syllable its own separate word. Ta-Da-Shi. She almost didn't recognize the voice, because she couldn't remember the last time she heard him use it for anything besides fussing. The bottle slipped from her fingers, and after a few seconds of frantic juggling she managed to catch it before it hit the ground. Snatching up the tape recorder, she skirted the table at a run and hit the record button.

“Hiro! Hiro, what did you just say?” Heart aflutter, she pressed two kisses to his cheek. “Come on, Hiro, say it again. _Moichido_ , Hiro, you can do it!”

He stared up at her wonderingly and repeated it without stumbling. “Tadashi.”

Bottle forgotten, she swept him out of his chair and danced with him in her arms until he squealed with laughter.

It was there that the dam broke. Hiro went from staring wordlessly to surprising and delighting his parents with clear, recognizable words. Not to say that he became a chatterbox overnight – the thoughtful, concentrating look rarely left his face, and his little eyebrows knitted together whenever he was about to try out something new. He knew the words, but he only used them when he was absolutely certain that they were correct.

Tomeo had been right. Hiro hadn't just been silent, for all those months. He'd been listening, learning, and in the end Mae was proud enough to burst.

Tadashi shrugged at the new development. He took the knowledge that his name had been his brother's first word in stride. So he could talk now. Big deal, everyone talked. Tadashi talked all the time, in both English and Japanese, and you never saw Mom and Dad making a tremendous fuss. Besides, Hiro couldn't even make complete sentences yet. And once he did, again – good job, doing something everyone else can do.

And in his indifference, Mae found a reason to renew her fretting.

* * *

“Da- _aad!_ ”

Tomeo Hamada opened his eyes against his pillow and took a moment to remind himself that he loved his son with all this heart – truly he did. But it was nine in the morning and he'd been called in to the hospital from two to seven the previous night, and maybe he should have been grateful that he got two full hours. Mae had left for work after tending to the kids in the morning, leaving him to juggle catching up on sleep and making sure the boys didn't tear the house down before Cass had the chance to come babysit. “Count to twenty first.”

He could feel his eight-going-on-nine-year-old son scowl at his back, but the boy obeyed. “One, two, three, fo-”

“In Japanese.”

A heavy sigh. “ _Ichi, ni, san, shi, go, roku_...”

As the numbers continued, Tomeo could hear the temper in his son's voice ease off. _Works every time_. Holding back a groan, he forced himself to sit up and rub his eyes until he could keep them open without wishing he could prop his lids up with toothpicks. “What is it?”

“Hiro messed up my model.” Tadashi's bottom lip was out again – he was feeling petulant.

“Which one?”

“The one I _just_ finished working on.” He looked moments away from stamping his foot _so help me if that kid stamps his foot, I'm videotaping it and showing it to his girlfriend in ten years_.

Tomeo sighed. “That narrows it down to three, was it the plane, the battleship, or the robot?”

“My battleship, I put it out to dry and he smudged the paint and spilled chocolate milk on it!”

Sleep deprivation was giving him a headache. “Tadashi, that's the third time you've gotten food on a project after leaving it on the kitchen table.”

“ _I_ didn't spill on it, it was Hiro!” The scowl gave way to something more like sheepishness. “And I had to put it on the table, there was no room on my desk 'cause that's where the plane and the robot are.”

“All right, all right.” There was no winning with this one. He massaged his forehead. “Listen, when I get up, we'll go shopping for another model. I'll help you put it together this time.”

Tadashi sighed loudly. “We wouldn't _have_ to if Hiro didn't-”

“I wish you wouldn't fight with your brother, Tadashi. He's only two.”

At this, Tadashi crossed his arms and looked away. Tomeo sighed inwardly – he hated having this discussion, because it always made Tadashi defensive. One mention of getting along with Hiro, and Tadashi closed himself off like he was slamming a steel door.

He crooked a finger at him. “Tadashi, come here.” Reluctantly, his son crossed the room and sat at the foot of the bed, glaring at his own lap. “Now. You're his _nii-san_ , and-”

“I don't wanna be his _nii-san,_ ” Tadashi interrupted.

“But you _are_ ,” Tomeo said firmly. “He looks up to you. Me, I'm otō-san, as far as he's concerned I'm a big, old giant.” He saw his son purse his lips, trying to hide that he found the image funny. “But he only has one big brother, and that's you. Like it or not, that puts a big job on your shoulders.”

“Can't someone else do it?” Tadashi whined.

“Nope. Besides – you know how smart that kid is. In a few years _he'll_ be helping you put together models.”

“He'll just mess 'em up again,” Tadashi muttered.

He reached out and ruffled his son's hair, heedless of Tadashi's halfhearted protests. “Give him a chance, Tadashi. He'll surprise you – he's good at that.”

“Okay.” It came out forced and reluctant, as it always did. “I'll go clean up the table.”

“Good boy. I'll be down in a couple hours, if Cass doesn't get here first. If you're good, maybe we can all go out to lunch. I'll let you have your own ramen bowl.”

Those were the magic words. Tadashi perked up, and even managed a smile before he darted out of the room.

* * *

It had been raining the day Mom and Dad didn't come home. Tadashi had been watching TV –  _Motorcity_ reruns. For some reason, he wasn't going to forget that. It stuck out to him, that little pointless detail, like the way the rain sounded on the roof and Aunt Cass saying “Sugarplums” when she dropped something in the kitchen, even though Hiro was asleep and Tadashi knew perfectly well that she meant to swear. The phone rang in the evening, and Tadashi had been too absorbed in an epic animated car chase to notice until Aunt Cass came into the living room and told him to put on his coat and shoes while she went to get Hiro.

The rest of the evening was a blur, but all those little things that led up to it were branded into his memory forever.

He knew something was wrong when Aunt Cass let him sit up front in the passenger seat – Mom swore up and down that he wasn't allowed until he was twelve, and Aunt Cass didn't sneak anything by her big sister. Hiro fell asleep in his car seat, and Aunt Cass told him quietly about the accident.

Dad was in surgery, and that wasn't right – that was backwards. Dad _was_ a surgeon, he helped people and saved lives. He wasn't supposed to need saving.

But what about Mom, he had asked.

Aunt Cass wiped her eyes, took a deep breath, and – stopped. She wiped her eyes again and watched the road. It was still raining.

The accident had happened because of the rain. That was what the police had told her, Aunt Cass explained when she stopped wiping her eyes. She had to be super careful and watch the road.

Tadashi was quiet when he answered that Mom would be mad at her if she got in an accident too, huh. Aunt Cass just wiped her eyes again.

Mom must be in surgery, too.

He felt like throwing up, or yelling. But he couldn't because he might wake up Hiro if he did, and then Hiro would ask questions and that was the last thing he needed right now. He sat back and watched the rain and the road. He wished there was another reason for this to be his first time sitting in the front seat like a grown-up, because this totally ruined the fun of it.

When Aunt Cass stopped the car in the hospital parking lot, she stopped him from getting out. Tadashi turned to her, impatient – didn't she know Mom and Dad were waiting for them? They might be out of surgery already. But when he saw her face, she was crying.

Mom wasn't in surgery.

She hadn't made it that far.

Tadashi said nothing as he got out of the car. Aunt Cass was wrong, of course. She had to be wrong. If Dad had made it to the hospital, then Mom had, too. That was how it worked.

Hiro mumbled and whined a little as Aunt Cass unbuckled him, and Tadashi froze in the middle of the parking lot, shocked by the sudden urge to slap him. It was strong enough to scare him. He would never hit Hiro. Hiro was annoying, but he was small and Tadashi was big – hitting him would make Tadashi the worst kind of person.

He pushed it down and stayed silent as they huddled under one umbrella and crossed the parking lot.

Once they were inside, Aunt Cass got Tadashi settled in a chair. She pushed Hiro into his lap, ignoring Tadashi's protests. He didn't argue for long, not when Aunt Cass had that look on her face. Hiro sat there quietly, eyes wide as he stared around at the white hospital walls. Silent, watching, thinking. It was kind of creepy, but he didn't wriggle or make noise, so Tadashi tolerated it. A nurse came to sit with them while Aunt Cass spoke with a doctor in a long white coat, far away enough that Tadashi couldn't hear everything, but close enough that he could see her cry again.

It didn't matter whether or not Aunt Cass had been wrong, in the end. Dad wasn't in surgery anymore.

The surgery hadn't worked.

Tadashi caught the words “respiratory arrest” and “7:42 PM” and “condolences”. He saw Aunt Cass cover her mouth and breathe deeply, then shake her head, cover her face, and sob.

The nurse's hand was on his shoulder, but he barely felt it. He wanted to keep not believing the words out of anyone's mouth, he wanted to tell himself it was some kind of sick-minded prank, but this wasn't funny. It had never for one moment been funny. Hiro squirmed in his lap, and he had half a mind to let go and let him drop to the ground.

They were gone.

His parents were gone.

One rainy evening, one accident, one hour, and they were gone.

He made it back home, back to the safety of his room, before he flung the battleship that he and Dad had built together across the room, buried his face in his pillow, and screamed until he thought his throat would bleed.

* * *

Everything seemed to move quickly after that. Tadashi blinked, and suddenly he could never go home again. Aunt Cass already had a place to live, right above her cafe, and she couldn't go back and forth between them to take care of them. So of course they had to live with her, at the very top of the stairs, in a room that he would share with Hiro.

It was almost like insult to injury, really. He did get most of the space since Hiro's toddler bed only took up the back corner behind the sliding wall, but it was the principle of the thing. On top of everything that had happened, he couldn't even have his own room anymore. It was stupid, because he would share a room with Hiro for the rest of his life if it meant he could see Mom's smile again without it being a photograph. But he wasn't going to get that, and he was going to have to share a room anyway, and it wasn't fair. None of this was fair. None of this should have happened, but it had, and Tadashi had lost far more than his privacy.

He blinked again, and the funeral was over. He had been determined not to cry. He had promised himself he'd be strong. He'd gotten up to read a poem at the podium. Two thirds of the way through, he found himself staring out at a room full of black clothes and soaked tissues, and something in him had crumpled until the world was blurry and he couldn't breathe, and Aunt Cass was leading him back to his seat. Hiro had touched his hand when he sat down, and he'd yanked it away.

Hiro didn't get it.

He was supposed to be smart – everyone always raved about what a smart little boy Hiro was, but he didn't get it. He spent almost all his time awake cuddling Aunt Cass and crying until he had the hiccups. It was the worst part about sharing a room with him, because for hours he had to listen to Hiro moan and whine and ask where Mom and Dad were. If he was so smart, then why didn't he get that they weren't anywhere anymore? They were gone, and it hurt – it hurt more than anything had ever hurt before, but at least Tadashi got it.

But that was whatever. If Hiro was going to whine and cry all the time, then he'd be the strong one. He'd bear it quietly and help around the house for Aunt Cass and for Mom and for Dad, and he'd make them all proud of how strong he was.

The nights were what dragged.

For all his vows of strength, he could not control his dreams. Whenever he closed his eyes, he would either dream that they were back and none of this had been real, or he'd drown in violent nightmares until he woke up clawing at the sheets. There was no in-between, and he couldn't decide which of them hurt more when he woke up. He trained himself to sleep on his front, so at least if he woke up yelling he'd do it into his pillow. The last thing he wanted was for Hiro to wake up and see him acting like a baby, too.

When the dreams stopped, it was only because the sleep did, too.

Those nights frustrated him. He would lie awake in bed, blinking as he tossed and turned, wishing for sleep at the same time as he feared it. Many mornings he got up without any clear idea of how much sleep he'd had, or if he'd had any sleep at all. It showed when he was awake, despite his best efforts to hide it. He would doze off in school, floating in a safe place been real sleep and consciousness. His teacher treated him as if he was something made of glass and eggshells.

During the day, the house was quiet. Tadashi missed home, until he remembered that there was nothing worth going back to if his parents weren't there.

He longed for sleep. He'd take the nightmares over nothing.

If he didn't have a good reason to, then he didn't leave his room. He functioned and existed, and did no more than that.

Until one day, out of nowhere, Hiro started crying.

This was nothing new – Hiro cried a lot these days. But today, Aunt Cass was downstairs and Hiro was playing with Legos on the floor by his bed, and Tadashi was doing his homework quietly, so there was no one else around when Hiro burst into tears.

It was sudden. It was loud. Tadashi jumped in his seat, scratching an ugly pencil line on his binder paper, when Hiro let out a high-pitched wail.

An ugly feeling filled him, not unlike that first rainy evening when some terrible part of him had wanted to slap Hiro for making noise. “Shut _up_ , Hiro!” he snapped over his shoulder as he tried to erase the line. His stomach twisted as the words left his mouth.

But Hiro only cried louder, wailing for Mom and Dad until Tadashi's ears rang and his grip on the pencil tightened and something in his exhausted brain just _snapped_.

The pencil tip broke off, and he flung it down and started out of his chair, almost breathless with fury. He forgot about being strong and silent, he forgot about what Dad said about being a big brother, and he even forgot that Aunt Cass would probably be coming up soon to see what all the noise was.

“What are _you_ crying for?!” he demanded, his voice going shrill.

Hiro wailed something that sounded like “I want Mom,” and Tadashi's temper flared.

“So what!” he yelled. “I want her too, but you don't see _me_ whining about it all the time!” His eyes stung with what felt like tears, and it only fueled his temper. “Stop crying, stupid! I knew them better than you anyway, so _you_ don't get to cry!” The world blurred, and he shut his eyes to deny the tears. “You're not even gonna remember them, because you're just a stupid baby and you don't even-”

“ _Tadashi Hamada!_ ” His aunt's voice cut through his rage, but he didn't care, he was past caring because his parents were dead and they were never coming back, and all they'd left him was a hole in his chest and a baby brother who didn't even get that they were gone forever.

When he opened his eyes again, Aunt Cass was gone and had taken Hiro with her, and the room was silent again. But it wasn't quiet, because the silence filled his ears like cotton, and even when he clamped his palms over them he could hear his pulse thundering in his head. He groped blindly for his bed just so he could have somewhere to sit down, curl in on himself, and cry himself hoarse for the first time in weeks.

His face was stiff with dried tears by the time he heard the thumping of Aunt Cass's footsteps on the stairs. Dread filled him until he felt sick, and he shut his eyes again.

Dad probably would have hit him for yelling at Hiro like that. He didn't know what Aunt Cass would do.

The bed shifted when Aunt Cass sat down next to him. He felt her take hold of his chin and press until he faced upward. “Tadashi. _Look at me._ ” Her voice was like steel – he'd never heard her like that before.

Her face was a blur when he opened his eyes. “I'm sor-”

“Stop.” She didn't take her hand away, but her grip on his chin loosened. “Tadashi, you can't do this anymore.”

“I-it was just one time, I won't-”

“I'm not talking about yelling at Hiro, Tadashi, that's just where it's led!” Her voice shook and her eyes shone wetly and oh God, oh God he'd messed up, he'd made Aunt Cass cry. It was all he could do to keep form panicking as she went on in a cracking voice. “I need you, Tadashi. I need your help. But you can't help me if you're treating your brother like you – like you hate him for being born.”

His throat ached, in a way that he knew he'd cry if he tried to talk. Throat bobbing, he tried to swallow the feeling, but it wouldn't go away.

“Tadashi, no.” Her hand moved to cup his face. “Please – please stop that. Please don't hold all that inside. It won't go away if you do that, it'll just stay and rot until it makes you sick, and you _can't_ , Tadashi.” Her breath hitched. “You can't do that to yourself. What were you going to say?”

“I-” And that was all it took. The tears flooded again, as if he hadn't just finished crying his eyes out, and the next thing he knew his face was pressed to Aunt Cass's shoulder until he could smell perfume and vanilla, and her arms were so tight around him that they almost hurt. He shook and sobbed against her until the tears were cried out, and the world was clear again when she pushed him back. Her tears were gone, too, and her eyes were hard.

“Let me tell you something about Hiro,” she said firmly. “No – let me tell you something about me. I'm not any different from my sister, or your dad.” Tadashi stared at her, confused and frightened by the desperate look on her face. “They're _gone_ , Tadashi. And – and I can't tell the future. Someday, I'm going to be gone, too. No-” She squeezed his shoulder to keep him from arguing. “It's going to happen.”

Tadashi stared at her, shocked. “But-”

“This isn't about him needing you, Tadashi. I know you know he needs you. This is about _you_ needing _him_.” Her voice broke again. “Because someday, I'm not going to be here, either. And when that happens, he may be all you have left. He may be the only person in the whole world who loves you, who you can really count on.” Her grip on his shoulder was painful. “So _you treat him right._ Do you understand me?”

“I-”

“ _Do you understand me?_ ”

“Yes.” He nodded until his teeth clacked together.

“Good. Now, come downstairs and apologize.”

* * *

Somehow, that night managed to be even worse than the ones before. He dropped off to sleep sometime around midnight, only to startle and gasp awake to a pounding heart. If he'd been dreaming, he had no memory of it.

His body felt heavy, as if he could just sink through his bed and fall to the floor underneath. He was giddy with exhaustion, desperate for rest even if it meant stomach-churning nightmares or sweet, cloying dreams of a world where his parents were still alive and none of this had ever happened. But it would not come. He tried everything, from counting lumps in the drywall ceiling to staying absolutely still. No single position stayed remotely comfortable for very long, and he lost count of how many times he flipped his pillow in search of a cool spot to lay his head. Within seconds, each spot grew uncomfortably hot, forcing him to roll over again.

It wasn't just his bed and his pillow that kept him awake. The hot, ugly anger from earlier had long died down, leaving a sick feeling of guilt churning in the pit of his stomach.

He had never spoken to Hiro like that – never. Even on his worst days, even when Hiro cried or made messes or took up all of Mom's time, he had never done that. But now, in the dark, late hours of the night, Tadashi's exhausted mind conjured up his parents' faces. What would they say, if they had seen him talk that way to his little brother?

They'd be so disappointed. They'd hate him. They'd wish he'd never been born, they'd wish that Hiro was their only child, because he was little and perfect and never did anything wrong, and of _course_ Hiro wouldn't understand, of course he would miss them and ask for them, he was only three and Tadashi was awful and mean and

More tears, leaking from his eyes and sliding down to his hot, flattened pillow. He tried to breathe, but it shook and caught in his chest. Tadashi turned on his side and curled into a tight ball, crying from pure exhaustion until his throat hurt and his pillow was warm and wet against his cheek. He just wanted to _sleep_.

There was a tug on his blanket. He twitched, startled, and lifted his head to look around in the dark.

It came from over the side of his bed, too low for him to see over the edge, a high-pitched “Lemme up.”

Tadashi scooted to the side and propped himself up on one elbow to find Hiro gazing up at him, clutching at the blankets he could reach for balance. For a moment the two of them stared at each other in the dark.

Hiro blinked. “Lemme up,” he repeated, stretching up to his toes. He tugged the blanket again.

There was only one thing he could do, of course. Tadashi wiped his eyes on the heel of his hand, reached down, and lifted his little brother up onto the mattress. Without another word, Hiro crawled to his side, wriggled under the blankets, and reached out to curl his hand into Tadashi's pajama shirt.

Confusion swam in his mind, and for a moment he could only stare wordlessly. Hiro frowned at him and gave his shirt a tug.

Slowly, Tadashi let himself lie back down. Hiro wriggled forward until he was settled against his chest. His forehead bumped Tadashi's collarbone, and he mumbled wordlessly into his shirt.

Tadashi fought to breathe against the sudden wave of _something_ that rose up in his chest. It was equal parts painful and calming, distantly familiar, rising up from his chest to his throat until it was all he could do to take in a slow breath and let it out again.

(He would recognize it later as the rush of warmth he'd felt three years before, when he'd first stepped into his mother's hospital room and seen his tiny infant brother asleep in the nest of blankets in her arms. But his mother was gone now, and his father was gone, and it was his arms around Hiro now.)

His eyes stung with the threat of tears, but he let the feeling wash over him like water. He wrapped an arm around Hiro's back and pressed him close, feeling his brother's hair tickle under his chin.

Hiro was so little. Tadashi was bigger, he'd been born first, and their parents were gone. His job was clear. It should have been clear so much earlier.

His throat tightened. “'Msorry,” he whispered.

Between his shirt and the blankets pulled over them, Hiro's voice was muffled as he mumbled back. “Go 'sleep.”

And for the first time in too long, curled around his little brother and listening to his quiet, high-pitched breathing, Tadashi closed his eyes and slept untroubled by dreams or nightmares.

 


End file.
